


let me (you dumbass)

by bangin_patchouli



Category: EXO (Band), SHINee
Genre: Drabble, Drabble and a Half, EXO - Freeform, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Kind of humorous, M/M, SHINee - Freeform, SO, for many days, i finished it Now, super fluffy, taekai - Freeform, this has been in drafts since... january-ish
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-02
Updated: 2018-06-02
Packaged: 2019-05-17 05:12:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14825936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bangin_patchouli/pseuds/bangin_patchouli
Summary: “aha,” taemin quips. “i knew you’d give up.”he only partly regrets his statement when jongin pinches him halfheartedly on his thigh.





	let me (you dumbass)

**Author's Note:**

> look this is very dumb very unimportant in regards to anything else I've written or will write ever. its pointless. i just want to upload something so nobody thinks im dead. which i am not. definitely

      “can you cough into your elbow like, I don’t know, a civilized human being?” taemin asks pointedly, turning in his seat at the counter bar to look, less pointedly, at jongin. feet away, sprawled messily on the couch, is where the younger lies, and even over the distance, the deep heated flush that sits solid on jongin’s skin is visible. as jongin settles again, ignoring taemin entirely, taemin hold his unrequited gaze.

      the tv is droning on, but jongin isn’t watching; his eyes are closed, soft lid distorted on one side where his cheek presses seemingly uncomfortably against the firm arm of the couch. his arms, covered in what taemin thinks is his sweatshirt, are tucked tightly under his chest, lean fingers curled and just barely brushing under his chin. the trembling movement of his oddly ashen, tight-lined lips is, in the end, what makes taemin rise to close the space between himself and the boy who seems to be sitting stiff in his own pain.

      the hard oak planks are hard under taemin’s knees, but under his hand, jongin’s unsuspecting cheek is soft; soft and alarmingly feverish. taemin slides his fingers up, past full lips, curt nose, fluttering eyes, and into thick, dye-damaged hair. his fingers begin to move of their own accord, finding their familiar way through jongin’s locks, and he watches as jongin’s half-open eyes soften and blur at the cooling contact. he watches jongin’s lips open, sense the words waiting to fall out, and decides to save jongin the trouble.

      “you don’t feel good,” taemin says, so softly, and he doesn’t think he could raise his voice even if he tried. jongin’s hot cheek under his thumb is soft, too; it pairs well. jongin’s hand shifts, fingers wiggling, and taemin wastes no time in lifting his own free hand to twine his fingers with jongin’s wanting ones. jongin’s head shakes minutely, eyes shutting momentarily, and taemin wants nothing more than to gather jongin in his arms and lull him away from his discomfort.

      “i have schedule, though,” jongin whispers, but despite his words, he doesn’t move. his head stays where it is, rested against taemin’s hand; he stays planted in the crevice of the couch.

      “yeah, i’m sure coordi really wants to cover up those red cheeks of yours,” taemin remarks, and he holds back his laugh when Jongin quickly leans up onto his elbow, eyes wide with shock. “yeah, and I’m  _ sure _ you should  _ definitely _ be heading outside. it’s twenty degrees, and you look like you’re  _ one-hundred _ and twenty degrees.”

      “do I really?” jongin utters, and in an attempt to stand up, presumably to ogle at the reddened tone of his skin in the mirror, taemin watches his sense of balance fly out the window. with a huff, he ends up in taemin’s arms, just where taemin wants him. his fingers grapple momentarily with taemin’s hoodie as taemin gently navigates them both; jongin ends up resting his head in the crook of taemin’s neck, and taemin takes the opportunity of the placement of his arm around jongin’s waist to slip the latter’s phone out of his sweatpants pocket.

      “what’re you doing, taem?” jongin asks, but the tone in his voice tells taemin that he doesn’t actually care what taemin is doing, and that he would much rather be sleeping in warmth at taemin’s side, silently, riddled in temporary feelings of death as it encompasses him, if he must.

      “i’m calling,” taemin says. he feels the tip of jongin's nose bump his clavicle, and it takes everything in him to remember that he, too, has schedule, and getting the flu is most certainly  _ not  _ on it. instead, he pulls jongin closer, which only results in jongin deciding that sitting up isn’t really worth it and falling, flush against taemin's chest. his head finds its fast way to taemin's lap, and taemin's fingers find their way again to jongin's hair.

      “who’re you calling?” jongin mumbles, and taemin feels it against the top of his thigh. he can’t seem to care though, in preference of tracing his hand down the warmth of jongin's exposed neck, all the way to the bottom of his back. taemin smiles when jongin’s phone opens at the touch of his thumb.

      “who’s your manager again?” taemin asks in lieu of answering jongin's question, and suddenly jongin  _ does _ care, because instead of his head on taemin's thigh, it’s his hand as he pushes himself quickly to eye level. taemin blinks, twice, once for himself, once for jongin; he’s sure it’s kind of hard to blink with hair in one’s eyes. unaffected by the look jongin is sending him from just two inches away, taemin reaches between them to brush the hair out of his vision.

      “now isn't the time to play with my  _ hair _ , taemin,” jongin exasperates, taking taemin’s hand in his fingers and bringing them down, a sigh blowing past his lips. 

      “well, why not?” taemin tilts his head, grinning at jongin softly. the fingers of his other hand hover over the  _ call _ button for jongin’s manager’s contact. “i think it’s always a good time to play with your hair.”

      “because, taem,” jongin says, giving up on his stern posture in favor of leaning close enough to taemin to just, lie down, but he doesn't. “you can't just call out of work for me, not when you  _ know _ how that is.”

      taemin lets the concern take control of his mannerisms, lets his hand smooth delicately onto jongin's neck. jongin's lip comes up to pout, to form that _ god _ forsaken frown for which taemin falls each and every time, and taemin really, really wonders how his heart didn't melt through his ribcage all those years ago.

      “i  _ do _ know,” taemin murmurs, “which is why i’m calling out for you.”

      any visible hope that grew in jongin's eyes dissolves as he lets out a groan of defeat and drops his head forward into the dip of taemin's neck. taemin laughs through his smile and runs his hand down jongin's back.

      “jongin, listen,” he says, seriously. he gently pulls jongin's warm face away from his shoulder and into view. his fingers dally, featherlight, on jongin’s feverish cheekbone. “i know how it is. and i know you even better. let me do this for you..” taemin leans, quietly, close to jongin and presses a soft kiss, refined and tender, to his forehead, lingering as he holds jongin’s face so carefully in his hand.

      “let me take care of this for you,” taemin whispers, nearly inaudible feels his confidence attempting to make its escape. “let me take care of you.”

      “fine,” jongin relents, and taemin delights in the feeling of jongin turning and leaning his body up against taemin, flush and boneless.

      “aha,” taemin quips. “i knew you’d give up.”

      he only partly regrets his statement when jongin pinches him halfheartedly on his thigh.

      “whatever, just shut up and call him.”

  
  


  
  


**Author's Note:**

> uhhh see i told you it was extremely unimportant. either way you got far enough down to see my equally unimportant note (ramble), so i hope you at least didn't have a bad time. im gonna sleep now


End file.
